Ice Blue Eyes
by zarjarminx
Summary: After so much bloodshed and destruction to the world around them, enemies are forced to become allies to prepare for a larger, more dangerous threat. It doesn't take long for two lonely souls to find comfort in each other's arms. Tragic love and tragic loss keep these two from truly experiencing what could be the best thing that happened to them in this broken, fragile world.


I have a bad habit of finding Fandoms that I worship and starting new fanfics before I finish the ones I've already started. With that being said, my newest obsession is with one of my favorite new TV shows on NBC. Revolution. It's original and I love the post apocolyptic storyline, along with the fact that it's executive producer is the AMAZING JJ Abrams. It appears that I have hopped on the bandwagon shipping the longshot couple Sebastian Monroe and Charlie Matheson. Maybe my obsession stems from just how HOT David Lyons is, or maybe it's the raw chemistry the two actors share onscreen. Either or this story has been forming in my head for weeks and has demanded to be written.

To the fans of Weird Science and Lover Come Back, no worries on those fics. They will be written to completion. I promise you :) I just need some Charloe time :)

I'm not sure what to call this fic, its going to be by far the hardest for me to write due to the struggles each character faces and the intrespective nature that the show doesn't really delve into...but I promise you I will do my best.

Also I would like to remind my readers that I am a smart and well read individual (not to toot my own horn) I write these stories because I have not read them yet. I do not have Word on my computer, so that means NO SPELL CHECK. I am fully aware that my works are full of errors and I have no Beta to help with that either. So just keep in mind that I do read my fics several times before publishing them, I just tend to miss quite a few things.

**Prolouge**

Her eyes haunted him every single night, keeping him from drifting off to sleep. They plagued him in his dreams. Dreams which over the years had become a constant stream of endless nightmares, nightmares that featured the monster he'd become and the heinous crimes he'd committed.

Unlike his own blue eyes, cold, empty and lifeless, eyes that gave an observant few a rare glimpse at exactly how dead he was on the inside, hers were _alive_, _expressive,_ and _passionate._

He could no longer count the nights he'd startled awake, drenched in sweat and short of breath, the last image fresh in his mind was of ice-blue eyes, hardened by hatred, faceted by fury and alight with unyeilding determination...they reminded him of an unearthed diamond, just meeting the sun after decades amonst the rubble and coal. Those eyes that bore into him, more like straight through him. They could see right through his very soul, despite the fact their owner was more than certain he lacked one.

He couldn't escape her, and slowly but surely she was driving him past the last remaining semblance of his sanity.

Sebastian Monre had always known a Matheson would be his downfall, always expecting it to be Miles or possibly Rachel, but nothing in his god-forsaken life had prepared him for Charlotte Matheson and her ice-blue eyes.

**Chapter ONE**  
**And so we meet again.**

It'd been a long time since he'd last seen the Matheson family together, over a decade for certain. He vaguely remembered what year it had been, what they'd had for dinner, or how old the children were at the time. Miles had convinced him to join Ben and Rachel with him when they'd been granted leave, worried that he would try something stupid if left in their home town to wallow in an inebriated state by the fresh graves of his entire family.

Bass couldn't even remember what holiday it had been, but he could remember one thing. He'd spent the majority of his time in the Matheson household actively avoiding a small blonde child with bright blue eyes. It wasn't so much that she looked like his deceased sisters, but that she reminded him of them by just being in plain sight. It nearly tore his heart from his chest and shredded it into a million pieces before his own eyes.

During dinner he'd been mindlessly pushing the food around on his plate, not bothering to actually eat it, when he caught her curious gaze. She studied him like no child had business to, almost calculating and judging him by just a glance. It unnerved him and he found himself making excuses and stepping outside for some fresh air.

No more than several minutes later little Charlie had followed him to the back porch, sitting on the step above him. She didn't say a word, just placed her small and fragile hand around his arm in a light embrace and let her head of golden curls rest upon his forearm. They sat in silence for an indecernable amount of time before Rachel had called them inside for dessert.

Though it was seemingly an innocent gesture of comfort, she had given him a moment of peace; a calm in the center of the storm that was his greif and misery at the loss of all those he loved.

_And so we meet again_, _Charlotte._

It was almost impossible to discern the young girl he once knew from the woman before him until she turns her gaze upon him. Those ice blue eyes fixated on him, breaking him down piece by miserable piece. He can see the contempt and disgust that radiates off her as she quickly evaluates his existance. Clearly he has not met her expectations. He fights back a smirk at her audacity, she had fire he'd give her that.

It was odd how her assessment of his being still unnerved him. She was a child, even more so back then, but it still shook him to the core when her eyes pierced through him the way that they did. They held nothing back.

"Hello Charlotte, it's nice to finally meet you." _Again..._he finished to himself. "I'm General Monroe."

He walked closer, getting a better view of his new captive. She was a stunning creature, the spitting image of Rachel, yet in a way more wild and dangerous. She had this look about her that screamed _Dont Fuck with Me._ It reminded him of Miles immediately.

"What did you do to my son?" Rachel demanded, stirring him from his thoughts.

"I am completely and utterly done playing games with you, Rachel." he said none to gently, not once did he raise his voice.

He removed his deadly glare from Rachel and back to the object he was quickly becoming fixated on, Charlie. She was worrying herself over her brother as if purposely making it clear she didn't give a flying fuck what the President of the Monroe Republic, the man that held her entire family's fate, had to say. Her body language screamed indifference towards him in this moment and it irked him to no end.

Regaining his composure was key in this moment. He couldn't afford to lose control of the situation and getting Rachel to cooperate was paramount to the next phase of attack on the rebel forces.

There was a moment of clarity in the insanity that had been clouding his mind as he called Rachel out on the murder of Dr. Jackyl in hopes to turn her children against her. The disbelief that flashed across Charlie's face was quickly replaced by the indifferent mask, but the doubt still lingered in her eyes. That's when he saw it. He knew why she unnerved him, unsettled him and shook him to his core.

"What's he talking about, mom?" the younger Matheson woman asked.

"Oh I'm sure there's alot about your mom that you don't know about." The sentance came out laden in hidden meaning and double entandre.

"You've seen a pendant like this before, haven't you? You know what it's capable of?" he directed his questions at Charlie, gadging her reaction and proceeding accordingly. Perhaps she wasn't aware that her eyes gave her away.

He went on to explain what was needed of her mother and made it clear that there was no step he wasn't willing to take, but as is typical Matheson behavior, she refused.

"Mom, look at me" she said calmly. "Whatever he is asking you to do, you can't do it."

"Is that so?" He snarked with a smirk on his face. He found himself liking this little spitfire more and more by the minute.

A brief glance at Strausser and hell began to break loose. The guards held Rachel back as she was demanded to choose which of her offspring would live or die. Monroe found himself studying Charlie as the gun was loaded and cocked, waiting for her reaction to an uncertain death.

He watched the scene unfold before him in awe. The way she tried to convince Rachel to hold her ground, offering their lives in service of the "greater good". Her voice was steady and strong, unwavering in the face of all that threatened to come down on her. Rachel on the otherhand was hysterical and about to break within seconds. _Perfect,_ he thought. _This is it, the moment I've been waiting years for. _

"Pick me!" She shouted as she forced herself into the line of fire, standing tall and staring down the barrell of Strausse's gun.

Monroe felt the air rush from his lungs in an instant, she quite literally had taken his breath away. He stood stunned in silence as he attempted to process this new development. He could see the determination in her eyes, unyeilding and unafraid. Did her life mean so little to her that she would spare herself and her family to keep him from getting what he wanted?

"It's okay." she said, her gaze hardening in defiance of self preservation. She would do this. She would die in this instant for what she believed was right. _Some things are more important than family._ He had no doubt that she meant every word.

The tightening in his pants at her remarkable bravery had not gone unnoticed, he had become painfully aroused, but it was the tightening in his chest at her most certain death that caused him worry. He was about to tell Strausser to lower his weapon when Rachel finally broke, saving him from a rather idiotic display of mercy simply because he'd become hot and bothered by this unpredictable little bitch.

Another rueful smirk played across his features as he left his orders with his men. He turned on his heel and made his way towards his bedchambers in serious need of a whore, a cold shower, and a bottle of whiskey to get the image of Charlie Matheson and her ice blue eyes out of his head for good.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Charlie couldn't seem to get rid of the peculiar feeling she'd had since the night before. Staring down the barrell of a gun hadn't been what unsettled her. She'd faced death before and was more than certain she'd face it many times again. It was something to do with the way his eyes fixated on her, studied her and gauged her reactions.

She would be lying if she said that his appearance hadn't suprised her. When she had pictured Monroe before she'd envisioned something like a Neanderthal, aged by the many years of war and terror he wrought on this earth, plagued by scars and hideous deformities which was common on a vetted soldier of his age. She was severely dissappointed when she'd met the real President Monroe, up close and personal.

She loathed herself in thinking him to be handsome, with his boyish features made masculine by light scarring and subtle aging. For a moment she thought his light brown curls to be endearingly adorable until the absurdity of it brought her back to logical thought.

Yet, she still had this feeling like he had caught on to her little secret in the breif moment they'd shared. Learned the hidden workings of her mind as they locked eyes for what felt like forever as his man prepared to send a bullet through her head. The idea scared her like no other. It was a dangerous notion that Monroe had her pegged, because that left her utterly defenseless.

Sure she'd been able to escape, Miles had taught her well, but part of her knew that this wouldn't be the last encounter she had with the crazed dictator known as Monroe.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

She stood over the fresh grave of her beloved brother, eyes glassy with unshed tears. She promised herself she would not cry. She promised herself she would not feel. Emotions had clouded her judgement before, made her soft and pliable instead of hard and unyeilding.

In the past year she was the one to hold the moral compass and help their little clan of rebels stay its course, fighting for the greater good. Now that Danny was dead the compass had shattered, there was no room for moral obligation. This was personal and this was vengence and justice and self gratification all wrapped into one.

Her blood boiled at the mere thought of Monroe. He was like a rabid dog that needed to be put down, and she was going to be the one to do it. She no longer trusted Miles with the task, he'd proved himself incapable of killing the son of a bitch.

It would take time, but she needed to be smart about this. As she turned from the makeshift grave of her murdered little brother, she swore she would do whatever it took to bring Sebastian Monroe down. She wouldn't be satified until she had his blood on her hands.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Monroe found himself startled awake from yet another vivid nightmare. It had been so real he'd hardly known it was just a dream.

_He had been carrying a limp and seemingly lifeless body through the woods. He had deposited her dead weight onto the ground as he stoked a fire under a thatch of thick trees, preventing the rain from extinguishing the newly flickering flames. _

_He watched as her body regained its strength, as it stirred it rustled the bed of leaves around her. Her back was turned to him but he could make out the long tendrils of tawny waves, they were a shade darker than her mothers but eerily similar just the same. _

_It didn't take much for him to realize who she was. He'd taken to dreaming of her nearly every night since he'd met her again. Dream Charlie rolled over to face him, her eyes dancing behind her closed lids as she willed herself awake. Eyelashes fluttered to life and ice blue eyes fixed themselves upon him._

_The dream shifted and blurred before it came back to focus. She was now straddling his hips as he lay pinned to the dirt and foilage of the forest ground beneath him. For a moment he thought that this dream wasn't a nightmare at all. He attempted to wrap his arms around her, grab her face or tear her clothes off to ravage her but found himself unable to move. _

_She smiled down at him, her eyes alight with victory and something much darker. He knew that look all too well. It was crazed and maniacle, much like the one that met him in the mirror every time he chanced his own reflection. _

_Slowly she dragged a long blade from behind her back, the sword sang as it left it's sheath. She then laid it flat against his throat, carressing the artery that pulsated in fear and anticipation. She leaned forward, curtaining them from the wilderness that surrounded them in the cascades of her long hair. Her lips were pressed against his ear and the hot breath she released left shivers down his spine and sent a surge of blood to his rapidly hardening cock._

_"You. Are. Nothing." She whispered before turning the blade and slicing through his throat in a swift and merciless motion. He couldn't help but think as his life spilled from him in waves that Miles would be proud._

Monroe, now wide awake and aware of his familiar surroundings, was covered in sweat and short of breath. The hand he had clasped around his own throat had done so on its on volition. He then ran it through his mess of curls that were now drenched in perspiration. He allowed himself a few ragged breaths before assessing that he had worked himself into a state of painful arousal.

The sheet that lay lowly slung over his bare hips was tented and the delicate fabric felt as if it weighed a ton against his turgid leangth. He swore beneath his breath, _Charlotte._ He knew he was becoming fixated on this girl...no, woman. Who could blame him after all the nights she sauntered into his dreams? Of course she was always attempting to kill him, but his sick demeanor found that incredibly erotic anyway. She was undoubtedly leathal and he thought her all the more sexy for it.

He could still feel her lips on his ear, hot breath spreading accross his skin, her voice dancing around him in a faint whisper. His hand drifted beneath the sheets as he lay back down against the soft mattress, gripping his jutting erection.

He palmed the tip of his cock, smearing the droplets of precum over his hand before grasping his steely leangth. He stroked himself slowly, imagining it was her hands working him into satisfaction. He thought of her spread across the foilage, laid bare before him. Her tanned skin aglow as the nearby fire danced along her body and set her hair alight. He moaned as he imagined his name falling from her lips in a hushed whisper, dripping with want for him and only him. Her feminine folds drenched in her desire.

After being held on the precipice of orgasm for far too long, he let out a violent growl of disgust. Her words were still fresh in his mind, keeping him from reaching any form of gratification. _You are nothing. You are nothing. You. Are. Nothing._

He called out to the guards stationed outside his room, the door opened immediately and without delay. There was no reason the President and Commanding General of the Monroe Republic had to jerk himself off. Fuck that little Matheson bitch, he'd show her just how little she new about him. He demanded a whore from the brothel down the street and a fresh bottle of whiskey from his private reserve. If he couldn't have Charlie to fuck into oblivion then he'd make due with what he had.

"Oh, and Davidson." He said to the guard before he closed the door behind him. "Make it a blonde."

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Charlie hadn't feared death in a long time. Not since before Danny died. She'd been doing an excellent job at shutting off her emotions and switching off her humanity. She'd killed and slaughtered enough to know that it was a dog eat dog world and if she wanted her revenge, she'd have to come out on top.

That was what feared her in this instant, that her vengence would never be claimed. Monroe would never recieve her wrath. She didn't fear for her life, she feared for the justice she'd never serve.

She was currently pinned under a shelfing unit that Aaron was trying (yet failing) to pry off of her. Their unkown enemy had one of those fierce looking guns and the whir of it's reloading mechanism was almost at an end.

Before she could cry out for Aaron to run and save himself, the man nearly vaporized before her eyes at the sound of the gunfire. Smoke and blood particles blanketed the air and she felt her breath leave her lungs in a rush of relief.

She expected to see Miles or Norah to walk through the plumes of smoke, making a smart ass comment of letting her stupid get the best of her again. She was utterly speechless when his lean musculature sauntered towards in all his uniformed glory. His eyes bore into hers and a look she couldn't identify swept over him before he had the chance to reclaim his emotionless mask.

"Hello Charlotte," he drawled, lowering his weapon. "A thank you would be nice."

_That BASSTARD!_ She fought to free herself from her imprisonment as he stalked away, gun in tow. She vaguely realized her mom joined Aaron in lifting the felled shelfing unit off of her. The moment she was free she grabbed her weapon and made towards where he'd retreated.

"Charlie!" She heard her mother yell, grabbing onto her arms and holding her back from exacting her revenge.

All Charlie could see was red. How dare he save her. How dare he do anything to or for her. He had NO right. She fought against her mother and Aarons restraints, tears burning her eyes and blurring her vision. Her heart pounded in her chest as she willed break free.

He above all people did not get to save her. She saved herself. She fought for herself, for her family, for Danny and her father. Monroe saving her was a slap in the face of all that she fought for. He spat on the graves of those she loved by sparing her life and not theirs.

She would kill him a million times over for this, she swore she would.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

It hadn't taken long for him to realize that he needed to destroy the tattoo he once loved so much. It was the one thing that could give him away as he traveled to New Vegas under the guise of Jimmy King. Part of him debated keeping it for all the memories and meaning it represented, but who was he kidding. It didn't mean shit now.

Miles had left him, more than once. The epic bromance that was Monroe and Matheson had ended in a nuclear holocaust. His men were dead. His city was a wasteland. His republic had mutinied against him in belief that he had truly gone mad and killed all those he swore to protect.

He told himself that he'd branded the tattoo away simply to end the existance of General Monroe, but in truth it was in honor of the loyal men he'd lost and their families that died in the bombings. If he was doomed to walk this earth for a little while longer, than he'd be damned sure he'd keep their memory alive with him. They died with his brand on their bodies, and now so would he.

His miserable existance was just that, miserable. He found a decent gig in New Vegas that kept him sane and flush in whiskey to drown his sorrows in. The fighting helped calm the raging war within him just enough to keep him below boiling point. The payday wasn't anything to write home about but it kept his thirst quenched and his stomach full.

He had a small trailer on the edge of town to rest his head after a long night of fights. He'd taken to drinking himself to the point of passing out in hopes that she wouldn't plauge his dreams anymore. Everytime she haunted him and brought the weight of the entire world upon him. All of his sins, all of the blood on his hands...it suffocated him. So on the nights he couldn't succeed in drinking her away, he'd bring home a woman to fuck the pain away.

Since the night of "The Surge", yeah that's what the idiots were calling it, he'd had a lot of time to come back to himself, regain his wits. He could now objectively look at his life in retrospect and determine all the ways he went wrong.

When he couldn't contemplate the fate of the republic anylonger he took to contemplating his fixation with Charlie. At first he'd thought it was her strong willed nature and the way she reminded him so much of Miles; and of course her stunning beauty. Now he knew differently. Of course those reasons did all apply but not entirely so.

She saw through him. That was it plain and simple. She could take one look at him and read him like an open book. Hell, she could do it as a child before the blackout. She sensed his greif and lonliness and offered her silent company out of the kindess of her heart. What he wouldn't give for that kind of compassion now.

A knock on his trailer disturbed him from his woeful thoughts and he rose from his seat to open the door.

"Jimmy, your up next in the ring. Gould wants to see you first." Sleazy Joe said before walking away.

Bass grabbed his button down and threw it on over his tank, following the bookie towards the fight tent. He flexed his muscles in anticipation of the fights to come. If anything would help him out of his sombre mood it would be bashing in some poor prick's face, maybe even play the tables at the casino and find a hot piece of ass.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

It hadn't taken long for Charlie to grow claustrophobic in Willoughby. Grandpa Gene was having trouble with distinguishing how to treat a grandchild from a grown woman, Miles lacked concern for anything other than her mother. Pair that with Aarons growing drinking problem and top it all off her mother's suicide attempt, it left her little to no option other than to make off in the middle of the night.

Of course Miles had caught on to her plan and before she could even make it out of the backyard he'd stopped her. It didn't take much to convince him that she needed this, so after a vague promise and an awkward goodbye she'd been free to go.

Charlie had found ways to cope with the disaster that was her life. She'd travled north of Texas, stopping at trading posts, supply depots and every dive bar she could find. She had also taken to meaningless sex. It helped immensely when the bottomless pit of lonliness threatened to swallow her whole.

She'd long ago lost her virginity. Jason had been sweet and kind, but there was no promise of a future with him. He'd always choose his father. Just like Mile's had chosen her mother over her. Just like her mother had chosen Danny, her father chosen Maggie...the never ending cycle of all those who disreguarded Charlotte Matheson all together.

So when a handsome fool threw a few hungry glances her way, she'd bat her eyelashes, flash a little cleavage and sway her hips until he drooled on after her into the nearest corner of privacy so she could fuck a bit of the pain away.

She'd just finished screwing a particularly dimwitted bartender in a podunk town just outside of northern Texas when she found a new purpose for her travels. The poor fool had thought he'd impressed her by showing his militia brand, thinking himself a "brother-in-arms" so to speak.

She was about to drive her dagger into his head when he'd coughed up the most valuable piece of information she'd heard in ages.

"Hey you know, I saw him a few weeks ago?"

"Who?" she asked.

"Monroe. Yeah he looked like cold hell warmed over too."

"Which way did he go?"

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Charlie made her way into New Vegas just after dusk. The party town was coming to life under the cover of night. As she made her way under the banner that named the debaunchery turned city, she passed whore houses thriving in buisness and a freak show with someone named David Schwimmer as the main attraction.

She lingered there for a moment before she heard cheering from a nearby tent. Jeff the Bartender had told her Monroe was most likely heading to where the party was to drown away his sorrows, typical.

She made her way to the crowded tent, passing through its entrance with out suspicion. It was a good sign that he wasn't the one running the show here. Not yet at least. She made her way towards the fighting ring. A large balding man in the center, the other man obscured by the crowd. She stopped next to a man in a camoflage vest that wreaked of sweat and brew. The cheering patrons cleared for a moment and the bald mans challanger was revealed.

Monroe stood before her, not fifteen feet away, sweaty and covered in scrapes and bruises. She half hid behind the camo-vested man before her and studied her target carefully. His hair had grown longer, the light brown curls wisping in dissarray. He'd also quit shaving and now facial hair styled into a light beard and goatee disguised his boyish features. He was shirtless, sweat dripping down his chest following the deep cut V of his well defined abs and disappearing into his low hung pants. She tried to ignore the way her stomach knotted at the sight of him. It was obvious that Sebastian Monroe didn't need a weapon to be leathal, his body was a finely tuned instrument of death all on its own.

After the bald man had been beaten to a pulp, she followed Monroe to the Casino. She kept a safe distance as she watched him play the roullette table with some cookie cutter blonde on his arm, hanging on every word. She tried not to linger on the fact that her blood boiled at the sight. She was sure it had to do with him getting his rocks off well the rest of the world tries to clean up his mess and nothing to do with jealousy. No, she had an arrow with his name on it and tonight he was going to be her target practice.

"I saw you in the fight tent. You like fights, sweetheart?" someone short greasy sleazeball asked, he was all together to close to her for comfort but she tried not to let it show.

"I like him." She said, her gaze never drifting from her target.

"Jimmy? He's ok. Little moody if you ask me."

"Jimmy that's his name?"

"Yeah Jimmy King from back east I think." She tried not to role her eyes at that. Of course he'd use monarchy for his undercover persona. The cocksure prick was predictable that way.

"How longs he been here?" she asked

"A few weeks maybe. Look if you want to bet on him I run the sports book around here."

Charlie dug into her pocket to pull out her pouch of walking around cash. She emptied a few diamonds into the sleazeball's grubby little hands and gave him a flirtatious smile.

"He's not fighting tonight." the imbicile stated, clearly confused.

"It's not a bet."

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Bass had won the fight with ease. It had been no suprise to him but it was starting to get dissapointing when his opponents weren't even a challange anymore. He'd made a little money betting on himself. Gould had told him not to get greedy when he did that but he got a kick out of pissing the little thug off.

Some trashy bimbo from the Plains Nation had thrown herself at him in the fight tent and took to clinging to his arm the whole night so he decided to spend some of his winnings at the Casino. Gould couldn't throw a fit if he was practically paying the man back.

He vaguely paid attention to the whore on his arm, she'd do nicely for a quick romp and an even quicker dismisall. No one was ever allowed to share his bed for long. He'd place a bet at the roullette table and turned his attention to the crowd for a moment.

Out of the corner of his good eye he could make out Sleazy Joe trying his hardest to make way with a tall and leggy blonde. Her hair fell well down to her waist, nearly dancing along the bare skin of her back. Her ass was perfection and he found his cock stir at the idea of wrapping those legs around him while he gripped the soft curves of her hips and ass.

His breif distraction with the girl and Sleazy Joe was interrupted by the faltering end of the roullette wheel. For a moment it seemed his luck had changed and he was about to win big. He could've kicked his own ass for thinking anything of that sort when the ball landed on 21, right next to his "lucky" number 7. He looked back to his right to see if Hot Ass and Sleazy Joe were still making nice but no such luck there either.

"Well, if I didn't have bad luck I'd have no luck at all." He said it more to himself than anyone else.

The night had worn on him more than usual and he dismissed little miss thing before putting her to any use. Her conversation was poor and limited and her hair was too short, her skin was too pale and she was beyond annoying. He made his way to his trailer with a fresh bottle of Jack. A gift from Gould for being his number one seed.

Sitting in the silence of his makeshift home he studied the bulletin he'd had for months. It's headline read "Philadelphia Holocaust". He knew the article by heart now, naming him the mass murderer of thousands if not tens of thousands of people. The marred flesh of his left arm another reminder of all the blood on his hands.

A swift set of knocks broke his concentration on the brand. Just what he needed, another dely from getting blind drunk and passing out.

"Yeah," he replied, not bothering to get up from his seat.

The door opened to reveal, yet again, Sleazy Joe. Man was this jackass getting on his nerves today.

"Jimmy, there's a girl who wants to meet you out at the bar tent." he said leaning up against the door frame casually.

"No, it's late and I'm tired." Bass replied. He had a nice bottle of whiskey all to himself and planned on downing it to the point that a woman would be completely unneccesary.

"Trust me," Sleazy urged. "You're going to wanna wake up for this one."

For a moment he pictured beating Joe's face in for even assuming they shared the same taste in women, but then he remembered Hot Ass from earlier. Maybe, just maybe his luck had turned around after all.

"Gimme a minute." he half growled as he slammed the door in Sleazy's face.

It took him a minute to clean himself up, but not too long. He blew out the candles in his trailer and made his way towards the bar tent. It was dark and most of the "neighbors" on the outskirts of New Vegas were either asleep or still in town. He made it maybe fifteen paces before everything went black.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

MOTHER FUCKER! She should've known she wasn't the only one out for Monroe's head but god damn her luck had taken a turn for the worse. She had her crossbow loaded and the trigger nearly pulled when two jack asses struck Monroe over the head, effectively making her miss her shot.

It hadn't taken her long to gather her things and follow the jail cart wagon. With two horses and a heavy cart carrying three passangers it wouldn't be more than a half a day's ride before they'd have to stop and rest the horses, assuming they were fresh, that is. If they'd rode the day to New Vegas picked up Monroe and headed out she could figure they'd stop once they found a nice place to camp.

Sure enough about five miles outside of town their tracks veered of to an abandoned house where they were currently setting up camp. She willed her heart to stop pounding in her chest. This was her chance, she may never have this opportunity again. She smiled to herself for a moment, relishing the idea of Monroe begging for his life, but for now she would wait until the perfect moment to strike.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Ok guys, let me know what you think so far. I wanted to get into season two episode two before I started chapter two. Do you think the characters are OC? Is the flow of the storyline following the plot of the show well enough? I'm not going to keep this story cannon entirely but I'd like to start out that way. FEEDBACK IS MY FUEL!

REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!

Love Always,

Zarah


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